Dreams
by Debbie-MaryJane
Summary: Sometimes dreams come true, sometimes on a hard way.The reason why Charlie stopped playing Quidditch professionally.


Dreams

She had just one dream, one dream to live for. I see that dream, sparkling in her eyes that slowly lose their light. People swarm around her, screaming and shouting, but in her eyes I only read peace and joy. Her voice keeps on whispering: 'I've got him... I've got him...'

I kneel down near her body and feel the thick mud stick to my red robes. Her broom floats around without purpose. Lightning strucks the sky again and the thunder shakes the ground. 'I've got him...' I hear her voice whisper, she sounds weak but joyous. I bow my head and feel tears prick behind my eyes. My hands lay in my lap, unwanting to touch her body, unwanting to feel what I can vaguely see. Her eyes are sparkling brightly and she talks in my head throughout memories of here and now and back then.

'I'm going to be a Quidditch-star,' she laughed and her eyes reflected the soft light from the candles around the room. In her hands rested a piece of parchment and her laugh showed a row of bright white teeth. 'International', she whispered disbelieving, but on a happy tone. She chuckled. I laughed along with her and looked at my own parchment. I also was invited to go to the selections for an English international team.  
'Come on, let's go training!' she said loudly and tugged at my robes. Her eyes were shining so bright and I gazed at her in amazement:  
'It's past curfew...' She didn't listen and went off like a whirlwind.  
'Wait!' I screamed and followed her through the long dark hallways of the castle.

She lived for her dream, she was ambitious and would do anything to achieve her goal, becoming a Quidditch champion. For days and nights she trained, through rain and snow. I remember the days she used to watch everyone train, she was a first year back then and she was so anxious to train too. Everyone knew she'd be good. She soon became a star, a wonderful Seeker, and Slytherin won the Cup since she joined the team. I still can feel her fly past me at high speed. I still can hear her laugh.  
It's like she can read my mind, because she's softly laughing to me. I look at her and see the beauty of this cruel tragedy. She's stuck in her dreamworld now, thinking she just became who she always wanted to be. I see it in her eyes, they're filled with happiness. My sight is confused by the burning tears behind my eyes that don't want to go. There's something stuck in my throat and I cannot swallow it. My breath is heavy and my head is bouncing.  
'I've got him... the Cup...' I hear her voice, and then, suddenly, I feel everything snap inside me. Tears glide over my cheeks and fall on her pale cheeks and her feverish dreamy eyes, so filled with her only dream. 'The Cup, Charlie, the Cup...' Her voice is torturing me, her illusion, her only dream, it's breaking something inside of me.  
'Charlie... Oh, Charlie... I'm happy too...' From the corner of her eyes a tear slips away and glides down her cheek. She tries to stretch out her hand to me, she tries to touch my cheek, but she can't. The Snitch tries to escape from her grip. She doesn't seem to notice it, she doesn't seem to notice how weak she is. Everything's soaked by the rain, but her green Quidditch robes are not soaked just by the rain, but by something darker. My shaky hand touches her long brown hair. My fingertips touch something muddy and something sticky too. Her breath stops for a second and she closes her feverish eyes.  
'Charlie, Charlie!' My brothers call my name and want to know whether she's okay or not. I do not respond, their questions barely get through just like the screamings around us. People are running around, in slowmotion as it seems. I'm not watching them, but I'm watching her.  
'Charlie,' her voice is barely understandable, but the sound of it pierces strongely in my head. There's just something stuck in my throat and I cannot breathe.  
'Charlie... It's so cold... Charlie... the Cup...' I look at her again and feel a cloud of despair go over my heart. The tears are falling freely from my eyes and I scream out loud in agony. People stop talking and stare at me, but I don't care. All I see are her floating broom and her body on the ground, the bright green colour of her Quidditch robes, darkened by mud and blood. I see so much of it, so terribly much.  
'Charlie...' Her voice won't let me go, just like her eyes that are staring feverishly to the sky above her, to the cloudy sky and the rain, falling on her cheeks. 'I have the Cup...' A happy smile climbs up her pale face. I grab her sleeve, grip her arm and look at her in despair. She sees my tears.  
'Charlie... The Cup,' Her laugh breaks my heart, 'I'm going international...' I want to grab her shoulders and wake her up from her illusion, I want to scream that she'll never go international, but I can't. I scream in agony once more, but she doesn't seem to hear me.  
She wun from me. The delegates of the international Quidditchteam were here, at this game. This was a test, this was the selection. One of us should go to that team in a month or two. Who would win this game, this Cup, would go. Her dream had come true a few minutes – oh, it seems like centuries – ago when she had caught the Snitch. I still see that one moment full of glory, I still hear her triumphant and joyous laugh.  
And then the lightning. Her deep and long fall. The dull 'thump' when she landed on the ground and bounced back.  
'Charlie, go out of the way, you can't do anything for her anymore,' the head of my deparment says. I do not move. Her eyes close and her head drops down. Her body shocks once and a thin jet of blood slips from the corner of her mouth to her neck. Pale hands grip her body, clap her face, but her head is rolling back and forth, lifeless.  
I shout her name and shake my head in disbelief. She'd go international. She has to, but her voice isn't whispering to me anymore. Her eyes are no longer talking, they don't tell that one dream of her anymore. Everything's chilly and cold and so far away. They let her body float under a white sheet that's soon stained with her blood and the mud she was fallen in. Her arm dangles down lifeless, in her hand she's still holding the Snitch.

'The accident was very sad, indeed, very sad. We know she was a very good player, and so are you. We know she was a special friend, but we need certainty about the place in the team. There's a free place, Mister Weasley,' one of the delegates talks at a rapid pace.  
I slowly look up at his face. I'm still dressed in my red Quidditch robes which are stained with blood and mud. My robes are heavy from the rain. Everything feels so unrealistic and strange. My thoughts appear to be different too... Heavy and absent. Not really here.  
I know, but I don't realize, that her body's close, here in the corner of the room, hidden by screens. White ones, like white clouds. I groan and raise my hand to my head, but I stop. There's something on my hand. It's darker than mud, it's darkred and smells odd. Everything's turning around.  
'Mister Weasley, wasn't it your dream? Wasn't it your dream to go international?' I feel a deep hole in my heart. Sadness creeps out of the hole and takes over my body. It aches so much. Going international... Yes, it has been a dream. Hers and mine. A few moments ago it had come out for her, and now for me. It was our shared dream. She lived for it, and died for it.  
'Mister Weasley,' the voice is annoying. I look up and stare at the white screens. She lays there. The eyes of the delegate slide to the screens too. He swallows with difficulty. After a long painful silence the man says: 'It's your only chance.' I nod slowly. My troath feels harsh and my hands are shaking again. I close my eyes to calm myself down, but it doesn't help.  
'I – I' I stammer barely audible, 'I'm not going to play Quidditch anymore...' The delegate looks at me in shock and disbelief. I stand up and notice my legs are shaking as well.  
'It was our dream. Not only mine's,' I say and every word hits me deeply, it cuts in my soul. Every word reminds me that she's dead, that she died at the moment her – our – dream came true.  
'I am going to work with dragons,' I say softly and walk up to the screens. I put them away and look at her. Her face is pale, her long brown hairs lay warily on the pillow and her eyes are closed. She's still wearing her Quidditch robes. The Snitch that was captured in her dead grip, now flies in circles around her body. The girl is wearing a happy expression on her pale face. I look at her for a long time and sigh deeply.

'International! We're going international!' she screamed and threw her arms around his neck.  
'It's so great!' Her eyes were sparkling.  
'We'll be famous! We're going to play Quidditch with the best!' Her enthusiasm was overwhelming and it made me laugh.  
'No, we! We are the best!' I said. She let go of me and danced around joyfully.  
Tears of luck sprung in her eyes. She lived for Quidditch and Quidditch was the thing that brought us together.  
Quidditch and dreams.  
Sweet soft dreams about the future in gigantic Quidditch stadions. Sweet soft dreams...

'Working with dragons... That's the only dream I can let come true without seeing her death all over again...'


End file.
